


Do a double take

by Insecuriosity



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Cygate - Freeform, False Accusations, GLORIOUS MISUNDERSTANDING, M/M, Misunderstandings, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4408904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/pseuds/Insecuriosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tailgate wants to wash the lubricants from his valve and Cyclonus hogs the shower. Luckily, the public washracks are not at all that far from their habsuite. </p><p>Unfortunately, getting to those washracks without giving anyone the wrong impression is a lot harder!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do a double take

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charivari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charivari/gifts).



The habsuite was quiet. Tailgate lied panting underneath Cyclonus' weight as the larger mech's vents blasted hot air into their shared habsuite. Tailgate let out a small moan when his valve cycled weakly around Cyclonus' spike, and Cyclonus groaned in response.

“Mmnnh. That was good...” Tailgate sighed. Cyclonus' answer was, as usual, a non commital grunt. Cyclonus pulled himself out, and shifted to sit on the edge of the berth. Tailgate watched sedately as he got up, and headed in the direction of-.... 

“Hey!” Tailgate sat up, and fluids from their coupling smeared over the bearth. He hopped to his feet and ran after Cyclonus on wobbling legs, grabbing onto the purple warrior's leg. “I get the washracks first! We agreed!” 

“No. Not today.” Cyclonus said curtly. He was already adjusting the showerhead to his liking, and he sent Tailgate a chilled gaze. “You promised me 'anything I could ever want' if I agreed to host movie night in our habsuite. I agreed, and this is what I'm claiming. I am washing first from now on.” The showerhead clicked on, and scalding solvent began to rain on Cyclonus' frame.

“But, but-! I'm dirty!” Tailgate gestured in frustration, and he squeezed his legs together. The lubricants that had spilled out during interface made a squishing sound. 

“So am I.” Cyclonus replied from under the solvents. His claws were already raking through the seams on his armour, flicking bits of grime into the underlying grate. “I have waited for you all the previous times, I'm sure you can return the favour.” 

Tailgate shimmied a little closer. “Maybe we can shower together?” 

“No.” Cyclonus' reply was resolute, and Tailgate's way was blocked by the mech's large purple pede. 

Tailgate sighed, and then moved back to the berth. His legs still felt spread wide, like Cyclonus' broad body was settled between them, and it makes walking feel funny. Carefully, he moved onto the berth, and touched the folds of his valve. The mesh was still thick and plush, oversensitive from overload and growing stickier with every passing second.   
Tailgate sighed, and tried to wipe the lubricant on the berth. This had to be revenge of some sort. Cyclonus didn't like sitting around waiting for Tailgate to finish cleaning out his equipment and scrubbing up. He never complained -Cyclonus never complained vocally- , but he groaned and huffed far more when his array was still sticky with drying fluids. 

Tailgate shifted to a better position, and the drying lubricants cracked, setting his dermal sensors flaring. He winced. Well, at least it explained why Cyclonus disliked waiting for the washracks- it was probably a lot worse to have that feeling all over a spike instead of just over the outer valve folds. But then again, why did Cyclonus insist on waiting it out in their habsuite?   
“It's not like we don't have access to public washracks...” Tailgate murmured to himself. It took a moment for his own words to reach his audials, but then he perked up. “Oh, of course! The public washracks!” 

Public washracks. One of the things that had managed to stay unchanged in all those 6 million years of war. The Lost Light washracks were a lot nicer than the ones Tailgate had known from his job in the Golden age though.

Those washracks had been loctaed in a tiny dark room with a flickering light, and far too cold cleansing sprays. The showerheads hadn't been removable, and there was never enough space for all the many garbage disposal bots that wanted or needed a wash. It always ended up with everyone stuffed into one room, and then just trying to clean whatever part of plating you could see. The washracks on the Lost Light were a lot bigger, and Tailgate wondered if he'd have company to help him clean off that stupid spot on his back. 

Tailgate hopped off the berth, and tried to make his legs behave a little better. “Cyclonus?” He called out. The solvent kept on clattering down, but a non-answer from Cyclonus was pretty standard. “I'm gonna go to the washracks, so I'll be back soon!” Again there was no answer and Tailgate walked out into the hallway. 

This was the very first time that he'd had to wait so long to get himself cleaned up after an interface, and Tailgate was starting to see why other mecha, and Cyclonus, complained so thoroughly about it. 

Valve Lubricant worked best when there was friction, and afterwards it was supposed to gum up at the entrance to keep transfluid in- or something like that. It had something to do with reducing the waste of useful fluids, or... something or the other. Tailgate couldn't remember. All he knew was that right now, his valve lubricant was starting to feel like an ugly slime-knot balling up near his valve. 

Tailgate pulled a face, and sped up his bow-legged waddle down the hall. He wanted this gunk off as quickly as he could, and then he wanted to try and talk to Cyclonus about-   
A sudden odd feeling broke through his thoughts. It felt like something breaking open, right near the viscinity of his valve, combined with a flow of something warm and wet running down his legs-.... Tailgate stiffened. Oh no, that better not be-! 

Tailgate's hands flew to his valve, and he was just in time to catch the bulk of the transfluid that was starting to drip out through the gummed up lubricants.  
“Oh- scrap!” 

He fumbled to get his pelvic panel closed, but the lubricants had gummed up in the mechanics, and Cyclonus' transfluid kept streaming out. Tailgate watched in horror as the reddish-silver fluid escaped the confines of his paln and dripped to the hallway floor.

“Ultra Magnus is going to have me cleaning the halls for the rest of my existence!” Tailgate whimpered, and he hurried forwards towards the washracks. It was only a few halls further – right where the habsuits ended, and the undistinguished storage rooms for Brainstorm's junk started. Tailgate was already looking forward to the nice warm spray of the solvent, and getting rid of that gummy, sticky lubricant.   
He had almost reached the last hallway, when the last voice he wanted to hear reached his audials.

“...as I noted right here. Fifteen rivets are not up to standard quality levels, most noticeably in the hallways for habsuits 343 through 510.”

“Magnus, have you ever considered NOT obsessively checking all the rivets on the Lost Light?” Rodimus' exasperated voice floated after it. 

Tailgate stopped dead in his tracks and looked behind him. A irregular trail of glimmery transfluid and gummy lubricant spotted the hallway, leading straight to where Tailgate was standing.   
He could already see himself kneeling on the ground, scrubbing the decks each day as punishment for whatever laws he had broken!

He clamped a hand over his still-open valve, and then hurried as stealthily as he could to one of the storagerooms, opening the door and immediately locking it behind him. As soon as the lock clicked he pressed his helm against the door, trying to listen for any sign of Ultra Magnus deciding to check in the storage closet.

“Tailgate?” A voice suddenly asked from behind him. 

Tailgate only barely managed to suppress a squeak, and he whirled around.

Getaway was standing by an impressive stack of boxes, and one of them was open.  
“Oh, Getaway, I didn't know you were in here-!” Tailgate laughed uneasily. 

Getaway was looking downwards, his optics cycled wide open. Tailgate didn't like the way he stared, and he squirmed uneasily, hiding his valve from view with his hands.   
“Uh- sorry to interrupt.” Tailgate said, and he fumbled for the doorlock with his free hand. 

Before he got the door open, Getaway was crouching near him, hovering an uncertain hand over his shoulder like he is almost afraid to touch. Tailgate shied away. He was acting weird. “Getaway...?” He squeaked uneasily. 

“Tailgate... What happened?” Getaway asked. He sounded more serious than Tailgate could ever remember him being, and it was freaking him out. His plating clamped down tightly over his protoform. 

“What do you mean?” Tailgate said nervously. “Are....are we under attack?” 

“No, no not at all.” Getaway shook his head. “I mean...This- who did this?” Getaway pointed, and Tailgate followed his gesture to where he was still cupping his valve.

“I-...Err, it was Cyclonus? Why are you acting so weird!” Tailgate felt more transfluid drip from between his fingers, and he winced. “I- can we do this later? I really need to take a shower right now.” 

“No, Tailgate, wait!” Getaway held him by his upper arm, and then immediately let go as if Tailgate's plating had scalded him. “Sorry- I just... did this happen before?” His optics flickered to Tailgate's valve. 

Tailgate shifted nervously. The rules on fraternisation were not all that clear in his memory. “Um-... er, no?” He sputtered.

Getaway stared at him, and then slowly shook his head. “Tailgate.... Primus. I'm going to comm Ultra Magnus, he needs to see this right now.” 

“What?! No!” Tailgate shook his head. “Don't call Ultra Magnus, don't call anyone!” He was going to be scrubbing the halls for weeks, maybe even months if Ultra Magnus found out that he'd tried to escape his punishment! “Getaway, I just want to go take a shower, please, just real quick! Just let it go, forget you saw me, please!” 

Getaway looked torn, and Tailgate feels worry stirring in his spark at how frantic his fellow bot looks. Since when was Getaway so interested in law enforcement?! 

“Then-....Then I'll take you to Ratchet, okay? Is that alright?' Getaway said quickly. “A quick checkup with Ratchet, and then a shower- no Ultra Magnus, nobody else. Ratchet has patient confidentiality, he can't tell anyone.” 

“I-! Ratchet? But there's nothing wrong with me! Is there?!” Tailgate was completely lost, and Getaway scooped him from the ground, draping a tarp over his frame like a weird garment. 

“No. Of course there's nothing wrong with you Tailgate. It's just a quick check-up, nothing wrong.” Getaway said, but the tone of his voice told a different story, as did the speed at which he began running down the hallways with Tailgate in his arms.   
Tailgate just clung to his arm, and tried not to panic. Just because Getaway was acting weirdly, didn't mean that he was facing another life-and-death situation. Or aliens. Or a horrible rust virus, or, or, or-!

Tailgate couldn't quell his panic, and he was furiously applying Drift's meditation techniques as Getaway burst into the medbay.  
Ratchet wass already there, in full-on medic mode, gesturing them to a private backroom with a berth and a hefty lock on the door. Tailgate's mind could only think of one word; 'Quarantine'. Horrible images of needles and equipment and open-surgery flashed though his mind, and he clung to the tarp in his hands. He had been right about that itch in his left knee-joint. He was going to die! He had a horrible terminal illness after all, and this time it was going to kill him! 

“Tailgate, it's going to be fine.” Getaway said nervously, and walked them both inside of the room, the door snapping closed behind them. Then he lowered Tailgate onto the berth, the tarp still wrapped around the minibot's lower torso and legs.   
Ratchet was already standing nearby, looking almost as serious as when he had diagnosed the Cybercrosis in Tailgate's systems. Tailgate whimpered, and pulled his knees up to his chest.

“Getaway, leave.” Ratchet ordered curtly, and Getaway backed off, not quite able to disguise the shock and worry on his face as he closed the door behind him. Tailgate tugged the tarp a little closer, and Ratchet took a seat near the berth.

“Hello Tailgate.” Ratchet said calmly. Far too calmly to mean anything good. “Are you comfortable?”

“I-...I don't even know what's going on. I'm not sick again, am I?” Tailgate whimpered, and he bunched his fists into the tarp concealing his panel. The drying lubricants still felt uncomfortable, and the squishy feeling made him queasy. 

“No, you're not sick.” Ratchet said calmly. “I'm just here to see if you were damaged. May I take a look?” 

“Damaged?” Tailgate's voice hitched. 

“I will be very careful, and I won't touch anything you don't want me to.” Ratchet said in a patient and almost mellow tone. “You don't have to talk, you're already very brave just being here. May I take a look under the tarp?”

Tailgate trembled a little, but he nodded. Ratchet directed him to lie on the berth, and spread his legs open.   
“I'm going to remove the tarp now.” Ratchet said, and carefully, he pulled the fabric away. The medic looked intently between his legs, and the lubricant felt even more disgusting. 

“I-I couldn't clean it.” Tailgate explained. “Getaway wouldn't let me.” 

Ratchet looked up for a short moment, and returned his gaze to Tailgate's valve. “Smart guy.” Ratchet murmured under his breath.   
“Can I touch you?” Ratchet asked. Tailgate quailed. 

“No, unless it's an emergency.” He said nervously. “Is it an emergency?” 

Ratchet “Tell me Tailgate, has this happened before?” 

“No.” He said, and Ratchet seemed to calm a little, his focus becoming less intense. “Usually Cyclonus lets me shower first.” 

Oh, those had not been the right words. Ratchet's plating flared aggressively and then flattening back down into a passive, non-threatening position. Tailgate could still see some of the edges tremble with control. “Ah, okay. Thank you for telling me.” Ratchet said, and he turned away to rummage with something that Tailgate couldn't see.

“Now, what I want to do, is take a sample with this.” Ratchet took out a small hollow tool, and presented it to Tailgate. 

“Sample?” 

“Yes, to identify your attacker and to serve as evidence in the trail.” Ratchet said. “Not like it's really hard to figure out who did this...” He murmured. 

“Oh.... well, I-..... Attacker?” Tailgate said questioningly. “I don't remember being attacked! Are-... did someone mess with my memory files?” 

“What-?” Now Ratchet looked puzzled, and he gestured at Tailgate's valve. “Then, this was consensual?” 

“What?”

“The transfluid and the-... Just tell me, did anybody force their way into your valve without your permission?” 

Tailgate made a little jolt of shock. “Wh-! No, of course not! Is this why you're all acting so weird?!”

Ratchet let out an impressive mix of a growl and a groan, and his hand flew to his commlink. “Getaway, Ultra Magnus, however far you are in that arrestation, stop it right now! Get to the medbay, stop harrassing Cyclonus-.....No, just get over here and I'll explain, leave the bot to his damned shower!”

Ratchet closed the commlink almost aggressively. “The wild assumptions these mecha make, swear to Primus-... no brainactivity at all in their little glitching modules-...!” 

Tailgate was still incredulous. “You guys thought that Cyclonus attacked me? Cyclonus? How did you even come up with that story? I was just going to the washracks because Cyclonus didn't want to share ours!” 

“Getaway found you bursting into a storage room, cupping your equipment that just happened to leak copious amounts of transfluids!” Ratchet called back. “Not to mention you share your habsuite with a seasoned war-veteran of the army that likes to think that war-crimes don't exist! That paints a pretty clear picture. What were you even doing in that storage room if you were just going to the shower?!” 

“I-” Tailgate quailed. “I was hiding because the lubricant-seal broke, and I made the corridor dirty. I just didn't want to get punished!” 

Ratchet huffed out a humourless chuckle. “Tailgate, we have security cameras, which Ultra Magnus uses pretty much daily to find the culprits to whatever horrendous crime was committed. You would have gotten caught anyway.” 

“Oh. I forgot about those.” Tailgate said quietly. The silence lingered for only a few seconds, and Tailgate squirmed. 

“Can I please go take a shower now?”

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, I love misunderstandings, and people conveniently getting the exact wrong ideas about a situation.   
> If you happen to find any present-tense in there, let me know and I will switch it back to it's proper tense. Additionaly if you know a good tag to attach to the story, I'd love to hear it! 
> 
> This was written for Charivari, and also posted for her! Hope you enjoy the updated version ^^


End file.
